


Cry Little Sister

by CindySin



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016), The Lost Boys (Movies)
Genre: Character Turned Into Vampire, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, Multi, Step-Sibling Incest, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-02
Updated: 2021-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-13 18:47:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,989
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29158371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CindySin/pseuds/CindySin
Summary: “Ahh Billy. I see... potential in you. Potential to be something more, something... bigger. Finish that-“ he points to the flask in Billy’s hand, “-and then we’re gonna take a walk. There’s some people I want you to meet.”Stranger Things x Lost Boys fic where Billy Hargrove runs into our nest of vamps after leaving Cherry Lane behind. Turns out he’s not quite able to leave everyone behind though...
Relationships: Billy Hargrove/Maxine "Max" Mayfield
Comments: 6
Kudos: 30





	1. Thou Shalt Not Fall

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lucdarling](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lucdarling/gifts).



> I’ve been working on this fic on and off for almost four months now, and although it isn’t finished yet I know if I don’t post it now I never will. I’ve been taking a break from writing and social media as I’ve been struggling with my mental health, but things are finally looking up. 
> 
> Chapter title from Cry Little Sister by Marilyn Manson. 
> 
> For lucdarling, for checking in even when I’ve been silent. Knowing you’ve crossed someone’s thoughts makes all the difference. Thank you.

  
**SEPTEMBER 6TH 1985**

The Camaro eats up the road as Billy drives in the darkness, hot tears spilling down his cheeks. He’s done it, finally fucking done it, finally escaped the hell hole that is that house on Cherry Lane.

Escaped.

It feels like an escape, but in truth it wasn’t. Not really. The reality is he was pushed, shoved out of the house by Neil with just the clothes on his back and the few possessions he’d managed to throw into a bag that afternoon, knowing a shitstorm was brewing. Just those and a warning not to come back, spat out of the door after him.

No doubt Neil will tell the world that Billy slunk away like a kicked dog, tail between his legs. Of course he fucking will. Anything to save face.

But it doesn’t matter. Not to Billy. He’s free, finally.

He checks his reflection in his rear view mirror, winces as he gingerly prods at his eye, already swelling shut, the beginnings of a bruise blooming around it.

He swipes the back of his hand over his mouth, and it comes away slicked with blood from his bottom lip, split wide open earlier that night. He looks at it for a moment, wipes it on the leg of his jeans with distaste before he looks back at the road.

He has no idea where he’s going, no idea where he wants to end up. He only cares that he’s leaving Hawkins far, far behind him, never to come back.

Max drifts through his mind, and he chases the thought away, shuts her out. She doesn’t matter to him. She’s just a stupid kid, even if she did try to pull Neil off of him tonight, told him to get the fuck off Billy, to leave him alone. Earned herself a backhander for that one. Billy’s mouth turns up in an expression that’s half grimace, half sad smile, and he hisses as his lip reopens and a fresh trickle of blood runs down his chin.

She’ll be okay he tells himself as he pokes at it with his tongue. She’ll be fine. He won’t consider the alternative. He can’t. Can’t bring himself to. Not if he doesn’t want the tears to start flowing again. Billy grips the steering wheel a little firmer, pushes his foot down on the gas pedal as he clenches his jaw, teeth gritted.

The Camaro eats up the road as Billy drives in the darkness, leaving Cherry Lane far behind him.

**OCTOBER 23RD 1985**

It’s been almost three days since Billy ate a decent meal. The money he managed to scrape together before he left has almost run out, and his spine feels like it might just give up and snap in half if he has to spend one more night sleeping in the backseat of the Camaro. 

He’s standing outside the convenience store, watching the clerk and waiting for him to leave the register unattended so he can run in, try to grab a handful of bills from it, when he becomes aware of somebody watching him.

His eyes sweep the street, expecting to see a cop as he pulls his leather jacket around him tighter, trying to keep the cold out. That’s when Billy notices the guy standing outside the bar opposite, smoking a cigarette as he watches Billy. Billy’s certain its the same guy he saw last night when he was sheltering in the doorway of the deli around the corner as the rain hammered down. He’s sure it is because he remembers wondering how he wasn’t cold, standing in the downpour in nothing more than a black shirt, his peroxide blonde hair plastered to his head.

Before he can think about it too hard he’s moving toward him, crossing the street to approach him. The guy just watches him as he walks, doesn’t move or react. It’s almost like he was expecting him.

“Hey buddy. Any chance you can spare one of those?” Billy asks as he stops in front of him, gesturing to the cigarette in the blonde guy’s hand. He doesn’t speak, never takes his eyes off Billy as he reaches into his pocket and pull out a crumpled pack of cigarettes, holds it out to him.

“Thanks” Billy tells him as he takes one, lights it and drags deeply on it, savours it. First smoke of the day. He’s got other things to prioritise with the limited funds he has left.

“What are you running from?”

Billy’s automatic reaction is to laugh at the question, but he’s unnerved by it. Something about this guy sets him on edge.

“What makes you think I’m running?” Billy asks, trying to sound casual. The stranger smiles.

“Because you’re just like I was once. Hungry. Cold. Bumming smokes off strangers.” Eyes lined in black pencil narrow, watching Billy’s face. “Let me guess; your old man beats you. Maybe he takes it a little further, touches you sometimes, in places you don’t wanna be touched. Not by him at least. So you run away. Decided you’d rather be on the streets that living with that. Didn’t realise how tough it can be out here.”

Anger rises in Billy’s chest, bubbles like molten lava. He jabs two fingers at the stranger, cigarette burning between them.

“Hey, fuck you man. You don’t know shit about me, and you don’t know shit about my life. So you can fuck off with your bullshit fucking psychology.”

He turns and strides away, crossing back over the street, a taxi cab narrowly missing him in the road. Its horn blares as it passes.

“I can help you Billy!” the blonde guy calls, his voice carrying over the sounds in the street. “I could make sure you never go hungry or cold again, never need to run from anyone! Think about it Billy!”

Billy pulls his collar up against the cold as he cuts down the alleyway that runs alongside the convenience store, the stranger’s voice whipped away by the wind. It’s only later that night, as he lays in the back seat of the Camaro, legs cramping, back aching and stomach growling with hunger that he realises he never actually told the stranger his name.

**NOVEMBER 11TH 1985**

The streets have finally broken him.

Billy’s sitting on the edge of the Skyway Bridge, feet dangling into the darkness. He can hear the Calumet River below him, knows that it’ll be icy cold. He hopes he won’t feel it for long, hopes that the descent into that frigid, swirling liquid will finish him quickly.

“No guarantee the fall will kill you” a voice says from behind him, reading Billy’s thoughts like an open book. He startles, turns to see who the voice has come from. It’s him. The peroxide blonde stranger. Somehow Billy isn’t surprised. 

“Of course, even if it doesn’t, you’d freeze to death in minutes in that. Either that, or the water will be so cold that your whole body will just seize up and you’ll drown. That is what you want, right? That’s why you’re here, because you want to die?”

“How did you know my name?” Billy asks him, and the stranger huffs a laugh.

“Would you believe me if I told you I guessed it?”

Billy hears the creak of a leather jacket as he moves behind him, and then he’s there beside him, sitting down next to him. He reaches inside his jacket to pull out an ornate silver hip flask, holds it out to Billy.

“One for the road?” he asks with a smirk. Billy reaches out and takes it from him, plucks it from his fingers.

“I don’t. Want to die, that is. I just... can’t carry on like this. I thought things would get better once I left that house.” He lifts the flask to his lips, drinks deeply. Whatever is in it burns his throat on the way down, feels like fire in his chest and stomach. He coughs.

“What is this?” he asks, hoarse and spluttering.

“Just a little something I make myself. Drink.”

They sit there in silence, side by side, Billy sipping from the flask. After the first few swallows, there’s something pleasant about that strange tasting liquid. Something warm and comforting.

“So, what are you gonna do about it?” the stranger asks. Billy thinks for a moment, shrugs.

“Nothing I can do anymore” he replies, and the other guy shakes his head.

“Always something to be done Billy boy. Especially if you know the right people. People like me.” He puts out a hand. “David.”

Billy looks at him, regards him for a moment before he takes David’s hand in his own, gives it a perfunctory shake.

“Why are you doing this?” he asks, his voice low, and David laughs.

“Ahh Billy. I see... potential in you. Potential to be something more, something... bigger. Finish that-“ he points to the flask in Billy’s hand, “-and then we’re gonna take a walk. There’s some people I want you to meet.”

Billy considers the alternative for a moment. He upends the flask with a shrug, draining it, and when David grins as he stands and walks away from the edge, Billy follows. Death can wait one more night he tells himself.


	2. I Wanna Taste The Way That You Bleed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from Kill Of The Night by Gin Wigmore. 
> 
> Warnings for some inappropriate behaviour from Neil. Your comments and kudos are much appreciated, thank you x

**NOVEMBER 12TH 1985**

Billy wakes slowly, unsure of where he is for a moment before he realises he’s sprawled across his backseat, the weak winter sun filtering through the rear window of the Camaro. His head is pounding, his whole body aches and his eyes feel like someone threw a handful of sand in them.

He fumbles around on the floor for the thin blanket he’s been sleeping under, tugs it up and over him, covers his head.

Excellent. Now not only is he homeless and hungry, sleeping in the back seat of his car, but he’s hungover and sick as well. Just what he needs.

He pulls the blanket up over his head and drifts back into sleep and thinly veiled dreams.

_(come join us billy._

_be one of us.)_

By the time he wakes again, Billy’s aches have eased and his head no longer feels like a high school marching band is parading their way through it. The night doesn’t even seem as cold as it did yesterday somehow, even though the steady drizzle of rain that’s been falling for a week now has turned to snow while he slept.

He startles when a leather clad knuckle raps on the window, David’s grinning face appearing.

“Wake up pretty boy.”

David’s leaning casually against the wall next to the Camaro when Billy climbs out of it, smoking and grinning as Billy stretches.

“How you feeling Billy?” David asks him with a smirk, and behind him the blonde with the curls trailing down his back ( _Malc? Mike?_ ) looks at the sandy haired guy with the piercing blue eyes ( _Paul, he remembers that one’s name is Paul_ ) and giggles as the tall, dark haired guy with the bare chest that rivals Billy’s own just smiles lazily, like they’re all in on some kind of joke that Billy isn’t quite a part of.

“Felt a little rough earlier” Billy replies, and Malc/Mike giggles again as Billy frowns at him. “Better now though. Probably that home brew shit you gave me to drink last night.”

The others ( _Are they boys? Men? Billy can’t place their ages, they could be in high school or in their late twenties for all he knows_ ) burst out laughing at that, David just smiling knowingly, before he waves a hand at them over his shoulder without turning, telling them all to settle down without words.

“I’m sure you’ll feel even better after you _eat_ , Billy” David tells him, emphasis on eat like it’s a dirty word, eliciting more laughter from the trio behind him. “Why don’t we go and find you something tasty to snack on? My treat” he says, grinning broadly himself now.

Billy frowns as howled laughter bounces off the walls in the alleyway, not understanding what’s so funny to them.

“Am I... missing something? Did I do something last night, something I can’t remember? Because I don’t get the joke here.”

David steps towards Billy, puts a hand on his shoulder and squeezes, grinning at him.

“Oh Billy. You’ll understand soon enough. Everything’s about to change for you, and all for the better. You’ll see.”

———

The dark haired girl in his arms moans weakly, barely stirring as Billy pulls away from her, his stomach lurching. He can taste her blood in his mouth, smell it on his face, coppery and cloying, and when he wipes his lips with the back of his hand and sees it streaked there on his skin he scrambles backwards as he lets go of her and she falls to the floor. Marko giggles behind him as Billy turns away from her to kneel on all fours and dry heaves. David speaks from where he’s sitting, reclined a high backed chair across from him. He looks like he’s sitting on a throne. In a way he is, Billy guesses, now he understand who he really is. _What_ he really is.

“You have to finish her Billy. You can’t leave her like that. She’s too far gone. It’s just... not the done thing.”

Marko giggles again, joined by Paul this time, Dwayne simply smirking as he raises an eyebrow and watches the exchange.

“I can’t” Billy croaks as his stomach lurches again. “It’s too much. I didn’t...” He glances over at the girl, chest barely rising and falling, eyes closed. “I can’t” he whispers.

David rises from his seat slowly, crosses over to Billy, sitting now with his head bowed between his knees. He drops down to squat beside him, puts his arm around Billy’s shoulders.

“You have to Billy” he says in Billy’s ear, voice low. “You have to drain her. Then you’ll be one of us Billy. You want to be one of us don’t you?”

Billy hesitates, barely nods.

“I didn’t think... I didn’t know I’d have to... to kill her. I didn’t know that” he says, an edge of despair to his voice, and Marko laughs again, clearly amused by Billy’s distress.

“Marko” David purrs, an edge of warning to his voice. “I seem to recall you being equally disconcerted when you took your first. Leave Billy alone.” Paul and Dwayne laugh openly as Marko’s laughter dies and is replaced by a petulant pout.

“Billy, surely you knew you’d have to drain her?” David asks him, his tone reassuring rather than condescending. “You can’t just feed from a human and leave them like that, barely living but not close enough to death.”

Billy head reels at David’s words. Can’t just feed from a human. _From a human._ Billy isn’t human. Not anymore.

“Billy” David whispers softly, lips brushing Billy’s ear like a lover. “You have to finish her. Drain her.”

Billy feels David’s hand pushing him in the girl’s direction, hears the others whispering in a chant. _Drain her, drain her, drain her._

He sees the girls lips part, hears her try to speak. His eyes fall on the bloody marks on her neck, marks made when David sank his fangs into her before beckoning Billy to drink from her. He watches a single drop of crimson blood swell from one of the puncture wounds, watches it trickle down her neck. His stomach rolls again, but he realises that this time it’s from desire, rather than revulsion. Suddenly he’s hungry, hungry for her, hungry for her blood.He feels his face begin to change for the first time now that he’s fed on human blood, that subtle shift of bones, fangs descending into his mouth, and then he’s pouncing on her, ignoring the way her hand brushes his chest in a feeble attempt to push him off her, burying those fangs in her throat and the whispers around him become shouts and whoops as he drinks deeply, his hunger sated for the first time in weeks.  
  


**FEBRUARY 14TH 1986**

“Max, could you come in here for a minute please?”

Max rolls her eyes at her mother’s request, knows for a fact that Neil will eye the hemline of the dress that El insisted she had to wear tonight on their double date and voice his disapproval, despite the fact that it comes to the knee. She secretly hopes that he’ll make her change, that way she can truthfully tell El that Neil insisted she wore pants, but when she walks into the living room and sees her mother sitting on the couch, eyes rimmed red from crying, Neil pacing up and down restlessly, all thoughts of dresses and El leave her mind.

“Mom? What’s the matter, are you okay?”

Susan looks up from the letter in her hand and meets Max’s concerned gaze.

“Oh, you look... different. You look nice sweetie. Are you going out?”

Max rolls her eyes.

“Yeah, El set up this dumb double date for Valentine’s with Mike and Lucas. We’re meant to be meeting at the diner in a half hour. What’s going on Mom?” Her eyes flit to the letter in Susan’s hand.

“It’s nothing honey, really. Just wanted to check in, see how your day went.” She folds the letter carefully as she talks, slips it back into the envelope laying beside her on the couch. “Do you need a ride into town?”

Max shakes her head.

“No thanks, I’ll just ride up. I’ve got time.”

Susan tuts and laughs as she stands, reaching out to take a lock of Max’s hair, run it through her fingers.

“You can’t ride a skateboard in that dress sweetie. Neil will run you into town, won’t you Neil?” Neil grunts from behind her, still pacing. Susan meets Max’s eyes again, and Max could swear she sees tears swell in them again.

“You really do look lovely Max. So much like me when I was your age.” She pulls Max into her arms, lays a kiss on the top of her head. Max feels the warm wetness of a tear as it falls and seeps into her hair.

———

“What’s wrong with Mom? Why was she crying?” Max asks as Neil drives. He glances over, his eyes skimming the hem of her dress, the way it’s ridden up as she sat down, exposing a milky white thigh. Max tugs at it, pulling it down as far as she can.

“That dress is a little short for a young lady Maxine” he tells her, eyes flitting from the car waiting at the lights in front of them to Max’s legs and back again. She tugs at the dress again. “Although I suppose you are 15 now. Almost a woman.” He reaches out and puts his hand on Max’s leg above her knee, his palm warm and clammy. Max’s stomach lurches, and she tries to shuffle across the seat further away from Neil.

“Why was my Mom crying Neil?” she asks again, her voice steely. Neil sighs and lifts his hand back to the wheel as he turns into Main Street.

“Your mother hasn’t been feeling too well lately Maxine. She had some tests at the hospital a few weeks ago and she got the results today. They weren’t what we were hoping for.”

Max’s head suddenly feels fuzzy, like her brain has been replaced with cotton wool, and her mouth tastes metallic.

“She’s sick?” she hears herself say, like she’s listening in on someone else’s conversation, sees Neil nod, hears him tell her that it’s very serious. Max’s stomach lurches again, and when she turns her head she sees El and Mike just ahead on the sidewalk outside the diner, hand in hand. She fumbles for the door handle, hears herself telling Neil that she can see El waiting for her and that she’ll be back before curfew, and then she’s throwing the door open before Neil has even fully stopped, dodging another car and running across the road toward a confused looking El with Neil calling out of the open door after her that she mustn’t tell Susan what he's just told her. She can still feel the heat of his palm on her leg, will still be able to feel it later that night as she sits on the floor of the shower and sobs as she listens to her mom and Neil argue about the fact that he told Max when Susan had asked him not to, had told him that she wanted to tell Max herself that she has cancer. When Max lays in bed later that night, staring at the ceiling in the moonlight and rubbing at that warm spot on her leg without realising, she wishes for the first time since he left that Billy was still here. She knows that if he were here, she could go to him now, crawl into his bed the way she used to when she was barely ten or so after she’d had a bad dream, listen to him complaining that she needs to toughen up even as he reached out and took her hand, soothing her back into sleep as he rubbed his thumb over her palm.

She wonders where he is now, what he’s doing, whether he’s happy.

Almost two hundred miles away, as Billy looks into the eyes of the girl who’s been dancing with him for the last ten minutes and suggests that she comes out back with him, Max flashes through his mind, her face filling his thoughts. He shakes his head and she disappears, left behind with his old life. He ignores the fact that he tells himself that every time he thinks of her as he leads the girl out into the alleyway where he feeds on his prey.


	3. So Close, No Matter How Far

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from Metallica’s Nothing Else Matters. 
> 
> A little shorter chapter here, but there’s a juicy good one next. Thank you so much for all the kudos and comments. Keep ‘em coming, I live for them.

**MAY 25TH 1986  
  
**

“Billy? Billy fucking Hargrove, is that you?”

Billy grimaces, considers ignoring the voice and just walking away, disappearing down the nearest dark alleyway. But then a hand claps him on the shoulder and he sighs as he turns on the spot.

“Hey Tommy. Long time no see.” Billy puts out his hand, decides this will be easier and quicker if he plays along, humours the idiot he actually used to consider a friend. Tommy takes Billy’s hand, pulls him into him and slaps him on the back, far harder than he needs to. Billy barely feels it.

“Where the fuck you been man? You just like, disappeared” Tommy asks as he releases Billy from his grip. “Heard your old man threw you out, kicked your ass as well apparently” he says with a smirk. The two goons he’s with snigger behind him. Billy raises an eyebrow.

“That so?” he asks Tommy with a faux grin, feeling a shadow of that old anger bubbling up in him. “Always knew the old man’d spin it so he came out better off. Makes no odds to me anyway, it’s not like I’ll ever be back in that shithole town.”

Tommy nods, looking uncharacteristically serious for a moment.

“You’re not coming back then when... you know?”

Billy frowns, shrugs. “No idea what you’re talking about Tommy.”

Tommy purses his lips, lets out a low whistle.

“Oh man, you don’t know. Shit, I had no idea you didn’t know. It’s uh, it’s your mom Billy. She’s real sick.”

Billy’s ears are ringing, and he can hear his voice telling Tommy that Susan’s not his mother, that she’s his stepmother, but there’s no malice in that statement, he’s just on autopilot, parroting his standard response to the assumption.

The simple fact is that Susan was more of a mother to him than his own had been. He could barely remember her really, but she left him alone with Neil, and that’s all he needed to remember.

And then there was Susan. Billy can’t count the number of times he’d slipped into the bathroom after a beating from his father only to find the little bottle of hydrogen peroxide out on the counter already with the cotton wool and closure strips. And when he’d pad silently back into his bedroom after cleaning himself up there’d be something sat on his bedside table, usually a Reeses peanut butter cup or a 3 Musketeers bar. She’d sneak in and leave them there, an unacknowledged apology for the fact that she was unable to intervene. She’d tried once, tried to step in and calm Neil down, tried to stand between him and Billy when that hadn’t worked, and all it had achieved was a backhander across the face and a bruise she’d had to cover with makeup for a week.

His attention drifts back to Tommy as he tunes back in to what he’s saying.

“...apparently it spread real fast, my mom said she’s probably not gonna make it to Thanksgiving now.” Tommy takes in Billy’s blank expression, sticks his hands in his pockets awkwardly as though they might try to offer a sympathetic gesture if he doesn’t take control of them. “It’s fuckin’ bullshit man, she’s always been real nice to me whenever I saw her. She doesn’t deserve that shit. I’m sorry man.”

Billy nods blankly, hearing the words but not taking them in.

“Thanks for letting me know man. Hey, um, if you see them around, or uh, or Max, just do me a favour and don’t let on that you’ve seen me? Won’t do anyone any good.”

Tommy nods, glances at his watch.

“Oh shit, we gotta move man. Got tickets to Metallica tonight at the Aragon. Good to see you’re doin’ okay anyway man. Sorry to be the bearer of shitty news.” 

Billy feels David’s presence approaching on the street behind him as a Tommy walks away, turns to see him peering at Tommy’s back over the top of his sunglasses.

“Who’s the meathead?”

Billy shakes his head, turns toward him.

“Just some idiot I used to hang with in high school. Haven’t seen him since I left.”

David smirks.

“Want me to take care of him?” He moves to take a step after Tommy down the street, but Billy catches his arm, shakes his head.

“Nah, leave it man. Not worth it.” He raises an eyebrow at David, releasing his arm as he reaches into his pocket, pulls out his cigarettes and lighter. “Heard Metallica are in town tonight. You know what that means.” He lights up his cigarette, inhales deeply as David grins at him.

“Fresh meat” David replies, eyes flashing and darkening. “What are we waiting for then? Let’s get down there Billy boy.”

They turn and head off down the street together, David’s laughter echoing into the night.

———

He can’t do it, can’t drain her. That auburn hair reminds him of her too much, the smattering of freckles across her cheeks dragging her into his thoughts as he feeds. He pulls away from her suddenly as his stomach lurches, the redhead in his arms groaning weakly.

Billy holds her at arms length, lets her slide to the floor slowly, head slumped to the side, a trickle of crimson rolling down her neck, and then he’s turning as his gut heaves and he throws up, fresh blood splattering the side of the dumpster and seeping into the wet floor, mixing with the puddles of rainwater, black in the dim orange of the streetlight at the end of the alley.

He retches again, a string of blood tinged spit hanging from his lips as he leans against the dumpster, his forehead resting on the cool damp leather of his jacket sleeve.

He can’t keep doing this, pushing her to the bottom of his thoughts, telling himself he doesn’t care. Because he does. Always has. He needs to know that she’s okay, that she’s doing alright. That things aren’t the way they were for him.

He looks down at the woman he’s just been feeding from, whose blood is already being washed away by the rain, notices her eyelids fluttering as she dips in and out of consciousness. He turns and crouches next to her, tugs at the neck of the Metallica shirt she’s wearing, wipes the streaks of blood from her neck as best he can. He pulls her to her feet, throws her arm around his neck despite her weak protests and half drags, half steers her toward the top of the alleyway, toward the street.

He can hear the people leaving the show, groups of them laughing and singing, talking excitedly, on a high. He’s hoping that if he leaves her sitting by the sidewalk that someone will notice her, assume she’s had too much to drink, take care of her.

He waits for a lull in the steady stream of people leaving the Aragon before he steps out into the street, pulling the semi-conscious redhead behind him.

“You just sit here-” he tells her, holding her upright as she slides to the floor, “-and I’m pretty sure someone will help you.” Billy hunches down next to her again, glances at the marks on her neck. Barely visible now he’s cleaned her up. He can hear rising voices as a group of women make their way down the street toward them, and he stands and strides away. He hears one of them ask the girl if she’s okay as he rounds the corner, heading for the pay phone down the street.

Neil answers on the fifth ring. He sounds drunk, and Billy feels his fist clench as he listens to the rising anger in Neil’s voice as he says ‘hello’ over and over again, before he slams the receiver down hard enough to put a crack in the plastic casing.

He tells himself it was a stupid idea anyway. She’s fine. She has to be. He needs her to be doing okay. He’ll repeat that little mantra every time he calls and hangs up without speaking from now on.


End file.
